Riddle
by rockpaperscizzorz
Summary: The Joker is given a twisted shot at fate. A sociopath's combination of murder, chaos, jailtime, mental instability and a brilliant little psychologist. Can he be helped? or maybe its just one big bad joke. CHP 2 now UP!
1. Trial and Error

Prologue: Riddle

**A/N Alright guys, first Batman fic. Now, I have very briefly looked at the comics, and I am by no means a die-hard batman fan. I am basing this fic around The Dark Knight. Not sure if there are any spoilers, but brace yourselves just in case. If you worship the comics page by page, this will most likely make you want to torch this story into smoldering, crispy digital goodness. If you appreciate Dark Knight, well, grab some girl scout cookies and don't spill any milk on ya keyboards. CHEEEERS.**

This fic is set after The Dark Night movie. The Joker was captured, arrested, and brought to Gotham County Jail, then the following week, brought to court to be tried for his mischievous and gruesome crimes.

He stood in the courtroom, wrists bound by iron handcuffs. He looked as if he hadn't showered in weeks. His stringy dirty-blonde hair hung loosely at his shoulder, his clown make-up smeared in a grime crust all over his face, allowing his "smile" scare to show disturbingly prominent. His face: blank, showing now emotion. No defeat, no anxiety, no remorse, of course. He displayed no such emotion. His custom purple suit had been replaced with the infamous orange jumpsuit, which added to his eerie presence. The jury was a dark blur of glowering and smirking expressions, though the way they positioned themselves, despite clearly being several yards away from the criminal, all had the wary stance that hinted they were bracing themselves. For something, anything that may cause them or their life to be in danger, set on fire, decapitated, combusted, shredded, grated…or otherwise…over.

The judge cleared her voice. The lawyers, Bailiff, Jury, and the rest of the courtroom staff jumped at the sudden hoarse sound.

"Jack Napier," she said blandly, shuffling through papers.

The Joker licked his lips quickly.

"Please step up for cross-examination, Mr. Napier," The Judge murmured, her eyes narrowing. The bailiff escorted the slim criminal to the stand, where he was sworn in.

"Do you, Jack Napier swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God?" It was more like a demand than a question. The Joker stared without blinking. His cracked make-up smoldered an ominous persona. Beads of sweat gathered on the foreheads of many of the Jury members. Their glares softened, contradicting the sudden hammering of their heartbeats.

"Mr. Napier, if you don't comply, you will be thrown in county without question," The judge growled.

No answer.

Then slowly, the criminal replied.

"I do," He said, his voice cracking. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in days.

The trial didn't last long at all. The vote from the jury was unanimous. Guilty guilty guilty.

"Mr. Napier, the court has spoken. However, due to your alleged mental condition, I have taken into careful consideration that your instability is most likely the seed of your-" She glanced down at the shroud of paperwork -three-hundred and twenty-eight counts of homicide, assault and battery, and…restraining arrest," A couple people in the jury snickered at the Judge's last word.

"…I have decided to sentenced you to a life sentence--no parole."

The jury cheered.

"However,"

The Jury's silence was like a faucet being turned off. Sharply.

"Your mental instability has concerned me to believe that you have missed several main points of your developmental homeostasis, thus concluding a minimum five-year sentence, and intensive therapy every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Adjourned," She slammed her malet. And is if the court room was suddenly a medieval riot, the jury enflamed into a verbally violent fury.

Ah, Gotham.

With no resistance, and not a spoken word, the Joker was escorted out of the court room, the same blank expression on his caked face.

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9:27 a.m. Tuesday, Swan's office.

The Joker was escorted into the cozy, modern style therapist's room. Plush black cushions, curved surfaces, various art on the wall. The room overlooked Gotham. Still cuffed, he sauntered to the couch.

"Doctor Swan, several officers are on standby outside your office. Just press '1' on your pager if you feel any distress or danger, and they will be in on a moments notice," James Smithson, a twenty-something intern, too tall and lanky for his own good. He looked as if he never outgrew his awkward geeky stage in high school. His short black hair matched his square, black framed glasses.

"Yes, Smithson, thank you. I believe I'll be fine," Swan answered.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Just fine at the moment, Smithson."

He pushed his glasses back up his nose, nervously.

"You sure?"

Swan raised her eyebrows

"Yes. If you'd be kind enough to remove yourself from my office, I would love to treat my patient now," she said, with a small smile. Smithson nearly melted in his leather Armani's. He scurried out of the room.

Swan turned to look at the Joker. His expression hadn't moved from the day in the court room, it seemed. She glided to the seat across him. Only the Joker's eyes moved with her. Alexis Swan was a twenty-four year old psychologist, specializing in the Abnormal field. She graduated high school with her AA degree at just sixteen, thanks to rigorous AP and Dual Enrollment courses. And even though she had only been a "proffesional" for two solid years, she had better credentials than most of the psychologists in her field. She was brilliant.

And the Joker realized this. He also realized that she was only 5"5, had charcoal hair twisted into a bun and held by a pencil, piercing yellow-green eyes, and small hands. He noticed an ink stain in her right pocket, most likely where a blue pen had exploded. Behind her, on her desk, he noted an Apple notebook, several thick medical journals, and record player. Sharpies of every color were strewn about, while a thick array of pen and pencils were stored neatly in a silver mesh pencil-holder. Newspaper clippings, as well as several papers were strewn across. He resumed his blank stare at Dr. Swan.

"Good morning, Mr. Napier," her voice light and soft. The Joker didn't reply.

"I have been informed that you haven't spoken in nearly two weeks. Is this so?"

Again, no reply. She nodded.

"I figured that wouldn't work, but might as well try."

More blank stare.

"Alright. Well, since you refuse to speak, and since you can only lead a horse to water, I will not speak either. Once you feel you are comfortable, speak up. But unless I make noted progress of your time in here, you're minimum will be extended a three months for each session you refuse treatment."

The Joker licked his lips manically.

"Of course, this is all voluntary for you. I'm doing my job, and sitting for an hour and a half every other day gives me more time for leisure. Although it would be a poor choice on your behalf."

She rose, strode to her desk, and opened up Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five.

The joker did not turn. He didn't moved. He only began to tap his foot quickly. Contemplating his next move.

**A/N The first chapter is kindof like a teaser? Constructive Criticism is worshipped. Frivolous flamers will be incinerated by…uhm…someone.**


	2. Manic

Chapter 2

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**A/N Thanks for all the feed, back, I took into consideration all of the reviews. Muchhh appreciated! I didn't place it in the romance category for nothing…so keep that in mind for future notice ;) As usual, please give me some feedback, now read!**

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Saturday, 8:47 a.m. Swan's office.

A stack of papers was slipped in front of her novel she was reading. She looked up, disconcerted.

" 'Jokes On Us: Joker hasn't Spoken One Word In Two Weeks' " Smithson declared.

"Long headline," Swan muttered, glancing at the Gotham Times. Smithson ignored her.

"This guy's a media nightmare, Doctor! It's like they love to hate him, track every step of the way. It's almost as if they're _waiting _for him to do something destructive. Keep reading," he said. Swan skimmed the newspaper.

…_After a bizarre court hearing, Gotham's most demonic criminal, The Joker, emerged scantily with a five-year minimum sentence, and intensive therapy three times a week. The therapist; a twenty-four year old local Michigan-native Abnormal Psychologist who will attempt to bring The Joker to his senses. Sources confirm that The Joker hasn't uttered a single word in more than two weeks, and despite his solitary confinement, suspiscion and unsettlement has risen to a new degree: What is he up to, and what will he do next?…_

"That's intimidating. Smithson, how did you get into my office?"

"Your door was open," he said, then switched tone quickly, "Can't you see what's hapenning, Dr Swan?! You're being placed under an extreme amount of pressure, here. The press is only going to get more and more intrusive. Each day he doesn't speak, you get criticized…this could bruise you're personal well-being! Or worse…your _job_. You have to do something to make him talk, Doctor…"

"I'm well aware of my credentials, and I don't believe I am in much danger. Once Batman does something heroic, there will be something else to talk about. The press isn't very consistent.'

"I'm just saying. Be wary," He cautioned, and sauntered out of the room, closing the door behind him. She set the paper down on her desk, and resumed reading. Several minutes in, she hear a _swoosh_ sound and looked up.

She was on her feet in seconds, ready to scream, or perhaps defend herself.

Batman placed one gloved hand over her mouth before she had a chance to protest.

"Good morning, Doctor Swan," his voice resonated through the room, low and husky.

"I assume we need no formal introduction," he said, removing his hand from her mouth. She made a face at him.

"So it's true, what they say. Just come and go as you please. This is the second time I'm asking today, how did _you_ get in my office?" She glanced at the closed door. Batman pointed at the window, which was open. She eyed him skeptically.

"That wasn't open earlier,"

"I am a man of many talents," he said, unmoved.

"Can I ask what your business is, showing up and spooking me like that?"

"Your treating The Joker," he responded, ignoring her question.

"Yes. Mr. Napier. It seems everyone feels the need to inform me of that."

"He's not going to tell you anything true. It would be a wonder if he even knew fantasy from reality. He's a very deranged individual."

"Have you read the paper lately, Mr…Batman. The Joker hasn't said anything in more than two weeks. I highly doubt that he will say anything anytime soon,"

"He will. Just be patient,"

"That's my job."

"And watch out, he's a master at his game."

"I'll do my best," She turned to re-arrange the papers on her desk. "Now, I imagine my patient will be in in just a few min-" she turned back to face empty air. She glanced at the window, still open, let out a heavy sigh, and resumed preparing for the Joker's session.

She could not force the man to speak, she thought. He was obviously deeply troubled, but she felt no danger in his presence. She knew he was sinister, but she also knew he was not stupid. It wouldn't make any sense to try and harm her, when he knew the security was practically right out side the door, waiting to shoot him down at the first sign of distress.

She was so curious as to what he had been thinking about the past couple weeks. Or even what went on in his head. She had just moved to Gotham from Michigan, and only had a taste of the terror The Joker had inflicted on the city. She had read about them, of course. And the first couple of nights she had moved into town she was in one of the two Ferries that were a part of his "Social Experiment". Each Ferry having a switch that would cause the other to explode… What a first impression of Gotham.

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9:03 a.m. Swan's office.

It was the Joker's third therapy session, and he sat quietly on Dr. Swan's plush couch. He had one leg crossed so his ankle was placed comfortably on his knee. He stared blankly at nothing.

Dr. Swan, on the other hand, was sitting at her desk, facing the back of the Joker's greasy, still head. He was in her peripherals, but she was more engrossed in her novel than anything else. She sincerely admired Kurt Vonnegut's cynicism and dry humor.

She wasn't expecting the Joker to speak any time soon; maybe never. Her field did require a lot of patience, patience that she had to force herself to accept. She had always been very fast-paced and impulsive through school. She held on her word, however, and would not speak until he would. Third day…that's an additional nine months…

The ankle on his knee began twitching furiously. Dr. Swan took no notice. He cleared his throat. Again, she paid no notice, as he had done this the last two sessions.

"Hey, Doc, I feel like talkin,'" he muttered. She was startled by his voice. She had only heard it, deep and gurgly through an intercom on that night in the Ferry. But now, in her office, it seemed nonchalant, perhaps even friendly, as if they talked every day. She immediately rose from her desk, and strode to the chair opposite of him, a folder stuffed with paperwork in her hands.

He sat, his ankle twitching, and his cuffed wrists were folded neatly in his lap. His crusty greenish hair was matted to his head, which hung, still in that eerie way so that his eyes were sort of looking up at her darkly.

"Mr. Napier, it's good to hear you've finally decided to cooperate," she said, flicking through the papers.

"I didn't decide anything. It's all a part of the plan," he smacked his lips, his voice dipping darkly at the last word. She felt her heart skip a few beats.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Nope. I thought we were here to talk about how troubled I am. Go ahead, ask me a few questions," He said, his voice immediately returning to conversationally friendly. It was chilling.

"How about we talk for a little bit about you. I'm going to go over some basics, tell you my diagnosis so that we can start from the root. Sound good?"

"I imagine that was a rhetorical question," he said, thoughtfully. She nodded, and cleared her throat.

"Alright, Mr. Jack Napier. It seems no one has been able to delve very deep into your history, so here is what I have."

He nodded, pressed and licked his lips habitually.

"Your name is Jack Napier, middle name unknown. Age…unknown specifically, however tests reveal you are somewhere between twenty-five and twenty-nine. Care to specify?"

He shook his head, his eternal smile curling upwards.

"Figured as much. Sex: male, weight: 186 pounds, you're in excellent shape, you have a body mass index of just four percent. Your liver does, however, reveal mild alcohol use, most likely in your teen years, as well as eroded naval cavities…presumably from cocaine use, as well as other signs of narcotics…"

"I was known as an adrenaline junkie, if you will," he said under his breath

"Right. I also have files from your stay at the Arkham Asylum," She skimmed over the paper. "I see your stay was very brief. Why is that?"

The Joker smirked.

"Let's just say I got out on…_good behavior,_" he said, flashing back to his very short stay at the insanity asylum just on the outskirts of Gotham. He didn't demonstrate any good behavior whatsoever. He slashed up some guards and nurses…mildly put… and actually caused several of the staff to turn quite crazed themselves. He had escaped the ward…persuading a handful of the patients to follow him and become some of his mentally instable henchmen to do much of his dirty work, all of whom he eventually destroyed.

Swan raised her eyebrows.

"Cunning. Well, their diagnosis reveals signs of sociopath behavior, bipolar disorder, manic depressive, and paranoid schizophrenia."

"So basically I'm just one big headcase."

"Not quite, it's just a diagnosis. I will not confirm any theory unless I prove it myself. Not much is known about you, Mr. Napier. It would really help if you could tell me a little bit more about yourself," she said seriously.

"You wanna start with the scars, don't you," he seemed to growl.

"Wherever you'd like. Listen, my room is soundproof. It is my job not reveal a thing we discuss in this room. I would not have any sort of guard or officer in here while we have our sessions so as not to taint the therapist-patient trust code. Whatever you tell me, I make notes of it, and pack it away to take to my home at the end of the day for diagnosis and observation. It is essential that you trust me. If you'd prefer, we could start at your childhood. The case files from court mention that the judge was concerned about your early years."

"Childhood. Allright," he said thoughtfully. "Childhood," he repeated

The Joker began to describe a brilliant childhood; a colorful one filled with happy Christmases, and supportive, caring parents. He talked about school, and how he was very popular amongst his peers, especially the females.

"…I liked to do theatre at my school. I always got cast as the lead. We did…Peter Pan one year. Of course I was cast as Peter. Our theatre had just gotten renovated, see," He talked, becoming animated with his hands, despite the fact that they were bound by handcuffs. "The theatre got wired harnesses so that the cast could get lifted into the air if needed. My school was full of talented guys from the art department, the set, so intricately made with welded metal scraps and woods. It was the Neverland forts, made to look like the 'lost boys' built it, so it was made to be jagged, sharp, and uneven.

"One night, during a performance, it was the last scene, where I was in the air, saying my line to the young girl who played Wendy. Something went," he began to slow his voice, his tone dipping "Something went _very wrong._ Someone in the crew didn't do their job. They didn't follow the rules. They thought they could just wrap my wire around a prop off-set, that it was late in the show, they were exhausted from holding me up. _They_ were exhausted.

"No one was there to hold on to my wire. My harness fell. I dropped from fifteen feet in the air, right on top of the set backdrop.Luckily for me, two jagged pieces broke my fall. It ripped my mouth from ear to ear," He paused for a moment, running his fingers across his scars, imitating the ripping sound "And the sick part, Doc, the really messed up part… was 'the show must go on'. I was knocked out cold, everyone thought it was part of the scene. The show was over. No one helped me until the crowd left. Pretty messed up, don't you think?"

Swan did her best to keep her face from furrowing and grimacing. She scribbled several notes in her notebook. After several moments, she looked up.

"It seems far fetched, blowing school code right out of regulation that no one did anything," She was silent for a few seconds, thinking. "Mr. Napier, are you telling me the truth?" She remembered what Batman said.

"Why, did someone tell you I would be…fabricating stories?" He said, and threw back his head in his signature, chilling manic laughter. Dr. Swan couldn't help but shudder.

"What if, Doc, what if I were to tell you that I had this whole place rigged, to several explosives," he said darkly, leaning in to look her square in the face. Instinctively, her hand groped for her pager clipped to her side.

"And what if I said that the trigger was set to the opening of that door," he licked his lips and pointed to Swan's closed door. "That one right there."

Swan's heart began to drum against her chest. She tried to keep her entire body from trembling, but she felt the color begin to drain from her face.

"You've been in jail…" She said almost breathlessly.

"Really? Have I?" He snapped quickly, a chuckle rumbling from deep in his throat.

"Are you scared of me, Doctor Swan? I think I see sweat beading on your forehead. I had no idea Doctor's per_spired._ Learn something new every day, doncha," He began to quiver with excitement, his mouth spreading in a horrifying grin.

"I don't know what you want. I'm only trying to help you," She said, trying to keep her voice even, but it broke on the last word.

"You could watch me crawl right out that window, and tell them that you let me out. Of course, once anyone walks through that door, this entire place is gonna blow up in _smithereens!" _He cried, throwing his arms up in the air and his tone elevating as he spoke. Dr. Swan could do nothing but stare at him, her finger just over the call button.

"Or…you could call my bluff and decide what's true…and what's not," He leaned in, just inches from her face, she could smell his warm breath. He eyed her like a hungry predator. His face then softened to a mock-concerned look. She remained frozen stiff.

"Why so serious, Doc? Maybe I should carve you a nice, big smile. We could match."

The Joker laughed manically once again, right in her face, and leapt towards the window. He flashed her an ugly grin before dipping out.

Time didn't seem to move. Doctor Swan shut her eyes tightly, holding her breath. She pressed the call button.

**A/N Oh, no, Doctor! What have you gotten yourself into now?! A Dartmouth (yes, Dartmouth) graduate has been outsmarted by a no good, greasy clown? NOW WHAT?! Just you wait : ) Good and bad criticisms always appreciated. Awe, heck, Reviews are my anti-drug. DO it!**


	3. Stakeout

Chapter 3

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**A/N Third Installment! The pressure is on. Pardon for the lack of updates…School is beginning to take a toll. But I wonttt give up! KAY read.**

She held her breath, and turned her gaze to the door way as her thumb pressed on the call button. She did not move, and couldn't hear anyone coming, since her walls were sound proof.

Ten second went by at molasses speed, but she heard the door handle being jiggled. No one could hear her protest not to open the door even if she could form her mouth round the words. She had no phone in her patient's consulting office, so as not to disturb anyone in the midst of their conversation or stories. She was on the twenty-ninth story of one of Gotham's largest buildings, only fifth to Wayne Enterprises.

She only had a call button if she needed help, and the only way help would come would be if they came through _that door._ She could only count on the Joker's bluff.

The door flew open, as a team of rather large, black-suited security guards, and Smithson burst in. Her heart skipped a beat, and then an ear-splitting explosion emanated from the doorway. Swan didn't have time to utter a scream, she just put her arms over her head, and waited for the immense milli-second of agonizing pain, followed by abrupt death.

She lifted her arms.

So, this was what heaven was like. White and powdery, and just like…her office?

She blinked a moment.

"What's going on in here?!" Smithson nearly shrieked.

Oh, great. How did Smithson get into heaven. Was she in the right place?? She said nothing.

"Doctor Swan?" Smithson dusted himself off a bit, then walked to her and patted some white powdery substance off her head. Coming back to her senses, she made a face and swatted his hand away.

"What just happened?" He repeated, the security looking equally disillusioned.

He swiped his index finger along the frame of the chair that Swan sat silently in. rubbing his index and thumb together, he rose his hand to his nose to take a good sniff.

"Baby Powder. _Baby Powder! SWAN! Where is The Joker?!" _Finally able to put words together, she managed to say in a voice just barely above a whisper.

"_Gone…"_

"Gone? Gone where, gone?"

She pointed to the open window.

"Smithson…get the Gotham PD on the phone…I'm not really sure what exactly happened…but… the press was right. The joke _is _on us. I don't know how. I don't know when, but somehow That Joker managed to outsmart _us_ one of the most intelligent firms in Gotham. From inside his cell! He's been planning this the _whole time!_"

Smithson stared right through her, as if he didn't even hear her.

"Gotham's most…sinister criminal…escaped…out of your office…through a window…and left us baby powder…" He seemed lost in a trance. Doctor Swan, however, all of a sudden found this infinitely humorous.

"To dust our asses with, perhaps?" She nearly chuckled. This was unbelievable. "Because apparently, we're too much of babies to have the slightest idea of what goes on in that man so we need diapers. Did you hear me, Smithson?"

He looked horrified.

"How can you find this amusing, Doctor?! Gotham is in danger! _You _are in danger. There is baby powder blanketing your entire office, are you aware of the cost of steam cleaning, lately, Miss Swan? Rates are not compliment to the circumstance of the economy!"

The sound of police sirens were made audible through the open window.

"Don't just stand around, you Goons! You, with the snaggletooth, take Doctor Swan to the lobby to be escorted by an officer…and you…with the hair…and you and you, start cleaning up this mess? Do I have to do everything? MOVE it!"

The security guards exchanged annoyed glances at one another for their obvious denigration, but obeyed otherwise. The man with the snaggletooth followed Swan to the elevator, the whole time in silence. She was deep in thought.

_He was lying. Just one big bad joke. He managed to rig the doorway, the cell door, perhaps even having a few friends help him along the way. He was aweful and evil and sinister…but she couldn't even begin to credit him for his intelligence. The man was so in tune with his environment, he must have been plotting the past two-and-a-half weeks,_ she thought to herself. _But what does that mean regarding his story of his childhood. His scars. Were they a lie also? _

She was taken to the Gotham's Police Department, in which she was asked a series of probing questions by several detectives.

"Look, I don't know. I only imagine the Joker has been planning this for weeks," she explained to the third detective. "I can't give any of you different answers, I'm afraid I don't have them. All I know is what he told me of his background, which is confidential due to my therapist/patient code; and that he told me my office may blow up if people come through the door. It was rigged, somehow, by baby powder that exploded all over the room," she finished, exasperated.

"I'll handle it from here, James, thank you," A voice behind her said. The detective immediately dismissed himself. She turned to come face to face with Gotham's finest: Commissioner Gordon.

"Well I'll be. If it isn't Dr. Alexis Swan. So good to finally meet you, I've heard of your good reputation in Michigan, and you've even managed to work your magic on Gotham's most deranged," he said, shaking her hand firmly. She smiled.

"All but one, Mr. Gordon, all but one. It's a pleasure to meet you as well." He gestured for her to walk alongside him, leading her to a elevator.

"Come with me, Doctor, I'd like for you to meet someone," he said, and after a moment he began again cautiously. "I'm sincerely impressed that you're not at all rattled by this. Either that or you hide it well."

Doctor Swan smiled again. "Well, Mr. Gordon, I've seen plenty of disturbing stimuli since I've been working, you learn to put away any fear or reservations you have. If I didn't, I wouldn't be a very good psychologist. To be honest, I'm mortifyingly terrified by this Joker character. But equally intrigued."

"And you wouldn't be a good scientist if you weren't intrigued, I suppose?"

Dr. Swan nodded. On the tenth floor, Commissioner Gordon led her to a lab. A tall dark man in costume awaited.

"Greetings once again, Batman," Swan said, nodding toward him.

"Doctor Swan," he acknowledged.

"You two have met?" Gordon said, surprised.

"Only briefly," Swan replied.

"Well I suppose that saves introductions. Mr. Batman?"

"Yes, Doctor Swan, would it be impervious of me to say I told you so?" Batman said in his deep steady voice.

"Not at all. Though, I don't think I nor anyone else saw this coming,"

"Yes, I would advise you to stay somewhere safe until the police get a lead. The Joker loves attention, no doubt he'll pop up soon enough. But until then, it won't be safe to sleep in your home."

"We'll make the arrangements, Dr. Swan," Gordon said.

"That's fine. However, I refuse to be absent from my job even one day. My patients need me, and I will not go against my code to see them," she said, sternly, her eyes narrowing at both of them. They were silent, until Gordon spoke up.

"Very well…rest assured, you will have maximum security on all floors. We won't let anything like this happen again."

"Sounds excellent," she said, and by now, Batman had vanished. "Still getting used to that," she added, noting his absence.

"Takes a while. Perturbing, isn't it?"

Doctor Swan stayed the night in a secure loft in town provided by maximum security. She had the eerie feeling that she was being watched the whole night, and couldn't stop her heart from drumming against her chest as she recollected the memories from earlier. The rabid look in The Joker's eyes before he darted out the window; The low growl to his voice when he toyed with the idea of her being blown to pieces. She was sure he would burst through her window any moment somehow.

Somewhere around 4 am, she fell asleep. No Joker paid any visit to her quarters. The next day, she went to her office as usual, though this time there was triple the security. Smithson made sure everything was examined for potential harm. She saw her patients on schedule, and she began to relax as the day went on. She did however, have two phones in her office now for security purposes.

It was like this for five days. No sign of The Joker and any of his disturbances. By day five, Doctor Swan had increasingly calmed.

1:33 p.m. Doctor Swan's office.

It was her half hour interlude between her next session with a patient. She strode into her office, closing the door behind her. Relaxation, for a bit, at least. But as soon as turned to fully face her office, she immediately noticed something that wasn't quite right.

Ever the logical observer, she quickly surveyed the room, her eyes darting. _What's so bizarre? _She thought. Her eyes finally stopped at her desk. It was usually a mess of paperwork and sharpie permanent markers, with her pens and pencils neatly collected into a mesh holder.

The mess of paperwork was still there, and so were her sharpies. Well, most of them. The green, red, and black ones were in the mesh holder. Dr. Swan _never_ stowed her permanent markers in her mesh holder. Never. She cautiously approached her desk, and reting just beneath several pale yellow sticky's, she uncovered a shrewd drawing. It looked as if a child had drawn it, messy scratches of green and red but at the same time it was very detailed. Intricate. Though from how close she was looking at it, it looked like scribble. Taking several step backwards and looking down at it, she felt her heart quicken.

The drawing was a scribble of two thick black rings, and below it, a red and green bat-shaped figure. Separately, it made no sense, but pairing the scribbles, it showed the details of a hideous grinning face…the face of the-

"You, ah, catch on quick, huh Doc?" She heard a gurgly voice behind her say. Before she could swivel on her heels, she felt an arm snake around her torso, and another around her neck. Quickly after the gesture, she felt cold, smooth metal press against her neck. She gasped in surprise.

"Ah teh-teh-teh-teh," He warned, pressing the metal more firmly against her throat.

"What…what are you doing here," she choked out. It was all she could manage, the criminal was nearly cutting off her circulation.

"You said you could help me, Doc," He began.

"Please," she gasped. "c-cant breathhh,"

He let out a sigh equivalent to a child expressing his disproval.

"Oh, fine. I'll seceed to your vitals. Use you're inside voice, though. We wouldn't want-"he flashed the grotesque butchers knife in front of her face-"we wouldn't want to let things get _out of hand_ now, would we, hmm?"

She choked some reply of cooperation, and he released her from his hostile embrace. She placed her cool fingers on her throat, feeling for any sort of bruise or abrasion. Of course the joker was too skilled to leave any mark. Yet.

"Give me three reasons why I shouldn't press the call button right now, whatever you may do to my life," she demanded, putting a good distance between herself and The Joker.

"Mnh," he replied, licking his lips and scars. "Okay. One, this time I do actually have this whole place rigged to several volatile, ah, _explosives,_ two, I have several Gotham thugs dressed up as security men to _dismember_ any of your staff that looks like their tryin' anything funny, and, ah, three," he licked his scars again. "Three…Your call button was disabled," he looked up and thought a moment. "As of, mnh, 9:07 this morning. Go ahead try it, try it."

She clutched the pager, but didn't press it.

"L-Let's say it does work," she stammered, now trembling but trying to maintain a serious face.

"The call button."

"Yes, the call button. That works, but you're not lying about the explosives. Then what?"

The joker fished something out of his purple coat. something small, and it was ticking.

"I believe you know what this, Doc?"

Of course she did. It was the main connection to an explosive, you press the button and…bingo.

"Now, ah, you can call my bluff if you'd like," he reasoned, but his eyes conveyed dangerous elixir.

"What do you want," she demanded, but being careful to keep her voice low.

"I hate repeating myself. But, I will for you, beautiful. I just want your…_help," _His voice dipped into almost a growl at the last word. "According to your diagnosis, I have several disorders, that, if go untreated could be potentially _dangerous,_" he turned the rather large knife in his fingers, making it look surprisingly easy.

Doctor Swan could only stare.

"Think about it, Doc, I sweep you away, the public goes into an outrage that one of Gotham's best psychologist's has been kidnapped by a ruthless criminal…You're safe and sound giving me personal treatment, I return you here when you think I've made progress, and I leave you alone, done deal."

"But what's the catch…"

He let out a quiet bout of laughter.

"Doc, I don't plan, I'm impulsive. Call it organized mahem. Maybe you'll publish a book about me, we could be partners!" He grinned hideously, toying with the idea.

"Batman will come after you."

"Yes, as he always does. Maybe he'll catch me by the ankles, or I'll escape him yet again. We're cat and mouse, he and I. Besides he could make things interesting. Weigh your priorites carefully, Beautiful, 'cause if you refuse, Of course I'll kill you, disapear out the window, and blow this dump up," He twirled the knife in his fingers like a baton.

Once again, she was left without a choice. Risking the lives of the people in the buidling were out of the question. But where would she end up? Most likely at the bottom of Gotham's pier.

The Joker was a skillful salesman. He made it appear as if his victim had a choice…but truth of the matter was…Doctor Swan was going with him.

There was no other option. And she knew it.

**A/N treacherous cackle now, review **


	4. Farce!

_Chapter 4_

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**A/N-Okay guys, through a delayed break, I have decided to take Riddle on a shift. I had writers block for quite some time, and have come to a conclusion that our beloved Joker is just too deranged to fall into "normal" love. I'm experimenting a LOT in this chapter…so, let me know how you feel, and feel free to correct and horrible errors. Mucho appreciated!**

"Okay," She exhaled, her eyes wide in fright.

"No need to thank me…just doin' my job," he laughed quietly again. "Now be a good little doctor, and go out that window. You'll find a stepping pattern," he leaned in, and she got see the way his hideous scars gnashed the skin on his face. He added, "I wonder if doctors are scared'a heights," He errupted into laughter once again.

Shaking, she stepped towards the window, she could feel the knife jutting against the back of her blouse, just enough to feel a twinge of pain. But not enough to break the skin. She looked back at him, pleafully, but he smirked and gave her another painful poke. Her window faced the city; she had wondered before how the Joker escaped so swiftly, now she saw.

She had no idea when he had the time to do this, between sitting in jail and attending her therapy sessions. The "stepping paths" were just strategically moved bricks, seemingly pulled out from the building, leading to the side of the building, which was windowless and a fire escape with metal stairs facing an empty alley.

"c'mon c'mon c'mon," he muttered, his steps were quick and skilled, and she felt like a clumsy puppet. She told herself she wouldn't, but she managed to glance twenty-nine stories below her, and felt her forehead bead with sweat, her vision becoming dizzy.

"Doctor Alexis Swan, MD psychologist. Five-feet-five, green eyes, dark brown hair. Blah blah blah, skip skip skip, Irraional fear of spiders and heights…" he mumbled manically. She shot him what should have been a glare, but was instead a weak grimace. He licked his scars and howled in laughter.

"There's that shining personality, Doc!"

He had somehow gone through the database and uncovered her file. Her eyebrows knitted together. Someone needs to put this guy on a leash.

Below them a questionable car rumbled idly. He motioned for her to step in the backseat, in which he followed soon after. The interior was beige and smooth leather, but stank of cigarettes. The driver wore a black fedora, but she could not see his face. The man's that awaited inside the car, however, she wished he hadn't. He was wearing dark sunglasses and an old, tattered suit. His face, jaw line, and neck were all covered in hideous scars, some looked as if they were fresh and festering. She shuddered, and did the best she could to shy away from him. This meant however, that she had to huddle even closer to the Joker.

Lesser of two evils. Such irony. He sensed her close presence, and playfully draped an arm around her trembling shoulders.

"Where to, honey?" He giggled smugly. She looked up at him with questioning eyes. Where was she going? What would he do to her when they got there? Would he kill her, eventually? All were silent questions, of course, that went unanswered.

"Oh, ah, how rude of me. Doc, this is Lars. He's good with planning and stuff. Lars, Doc."

The man kept staring forward, and sat disturbingly still. Did his chest even rise and fall to breath? She didn't want to stare, so she looked straightforward.

The car ride didn't last very long. She did her best to remember all the street names they turned on, but she felt like it was no use. If the Joker could escape maximum security prison, and somehow rig her office and building for crying out loud, she hardly could fathom any plan of escape.

On the outskirts of town, there was a shady complex. Dr. Swan felt her stomache turn and turn under the premonition that this was the residency they would be stopping at.

She gulped when the car turned into the gravel entrance way, silencing her suspicions.

It was grey-and-brown shroud of buildings, eerily too-close together. He jumped out of the now still car, and opened the door for her, grinning hideously once more.

"Honey, were home!"

Her nerves were still trembling quite a bit, but she realized she had become exhausted of his tacky one-liners, and irritated from the past few days' lack of sleep and peace of mind.

"What the hell is this dump," she said flatly. The corners of The Joker's mouth dipped.

"Such ugly words coming from a pretty little mouth," he growled, and she suddenly regretted her words as he grabbed her chin with all of his gloved fingers. She felt her heart quicken again. He turned her head forcefully, looking at her from every angle. She felt violated for the umpteenth time that morning, and her reflexes commanded her to shove him away. Kick, punch, attack. But she stood still.

Before she could think, the dull end of one of his infamous knives was pressed against her cheek.

"swipe, swip," he whispered. "It would be so easy, Doc. Painfully easy to give you a nice, big smile."

Her gut flared in fear, and with all her might, she shoved hard against him, getting a strong hit in his stomach.

Surprised for a moment, he backed away, crouched for a moment and then threw all his weight against her, pinning her between the car and himself, the knife this time was pressing firmly against her throat.

"Never," he growled, then licked his lips. "Never strike at your attacker in anger. Don't test me Doc, you've got a paranoid-schizophrenic-psychopath on your hands. Don't do it."

With a quick, skillful swipe, he made a small incision beneath Swan's collarbone, no more than an inch long. She gasped as she felt her own warm blood seep out of the wound. She should have been scared. Terrified. But as she saw her life, a speedy carousal before her eyes, she realized she had nothing to lose. The firm, the staff, the building were all okay, in one piece. Anger and frustration gripped her.

"Pathological liar, borderline personality…don't forget to add that," she said through gritted teeth, her eyes piercing into his. He framed her face with the dull end of the knife, playfully.

"Ya know, I'd kill for some treatment. I, ah, I really would," he chuckled.

She felt her head becoming light. Maybe he was cutting off her circulation. She couldn't tell.

"You're so sadistic," she rasped, realizing she could hardly speak now.

"No, no, no, Doc, this is sadistic," He said, and with his free hand opened the remaining door of the car. Lars flopped out, lifelessly, his sunglasses and had flew off his head. His face was pasty and white, eyes glazed over, vacuous. Lars had been an empty corpse the whole time.

He would not ease his tense hold… and she felt her stomach bubbling, she felt a wave of unease wash over her. Then, she felt her lungs beginning to burn. No. No. She couldn't breath now. Her eyes fluttered, then rolled back into her head. Dr. Swan passed out, but did not hit the ground, so lifelessly as Lars had. The Joker broke her fall, and gathered her into his arms, nodded to the driver, and walked towards his apartment humming absent-mindedly to himself.

That day was the beginning of one of the strangest relationships of her life.

When Dr. Swan awoke, she was back in her office, sprawled on her couch. Hurriedly, she scanned her mind, wondering if in fact, the event had been one big nightmare, and the Joker was still at large, running amuck Gotham. However disturbing, she had wished that were the case.

But when she sat up, clutching her tossing stomach, she immediately realized it could not have been a dream. Taped all over her window were the deranged smiley joker faces, identical to the one she had found on her desk earlier that day. Of course the night mare had not been over. Of course.

Dr. Swan expected the worse, of course. Anxiety-stricken, she waited for the sinister criminal to burst through her door with a manic expression and a long, gleaming knife. Or perhaps he would blow the whole building up altogether, what reason did he have for logic…the man obviously had no apathy.

He could never pay her any visit again, also. She doubted nothing. But Dr. Swan said nothing of her abductor, of her experience in the car and sitting next to a corpse. It was more out of fear than anything else, she knew that for a fact. But she also believed that if the Joker returned, and she could just…try to help him…just for a moment, she could figure out what went on in his mind. She had never an individual with so many mental disorders and not possess any sign of retardation. He was brilliant. He was disturbing.

However, what happened was beyond what Dr. Swan could imagine.

It was Monday, 8:56 a.m. Dr. Swan made no appointments with patients to replace the Joker's sessions. Perhaps it would have been a good idea, however, to lock her window.

She was writing notes on her most recent patient, a very well-to-do man in Gotham. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. Though he was extremely wealthy, not to mention powerfully intelligent, he had some extremely repressed issues he needed to resolve with himself. She noted him for an axis one diagnosis of mild depression.

Her window slid open.

A figure donning a faded purple suit climbed through.

Dr. Swan froze.

"Ah, hiya Doc, miss me?" The man licked at his painted features

She felt herself going numb. How could she have been so stupid. The window. The damned window.

"Please don't make a fuss, it would be a waste of every law enforcement's time in Gotham, I'm sure you agree with me on that I'm sure," He grinned.

She remained still staring, her face blank.

He took a few steps toward her, and sat opposite of her on the sofa.

"I have a little deal I'd like to propose," he said in a low voice.

"Mr…Napier," she gritted her teeth, her memory of the limp corpse that she had sat next to for nearly an hour fall out lifelessly; the Joker's hideous laugh. This man didn't deserve a possible human surname.

He held up his palms, almost defensively.

"Please. I really don't like to be called that. Now, my deal. I know that your impression of me probably isn't to wonderful, but let's put that behind us. As you can imagine, I have plenty of money-"

"I don't want your money--Joker," she snapped back.

"Let me finish, Doc, we don't want to make this uncomfortable for anyone," he shifted slightly in his chair, slightly enough so that the sharp gleaming knife of her nightmares flashed a quick reflection in her eyes.

"As I was saying, I have a lot of money. Money that I don't really give a damn about, but I feel that whatever I have is taking severe effect on me. I just don't feel right lately. Trouble in, ah, paradise, ya know?" He licked his lips again, though maintaining a deeply concerned expression.

"Are you out of your mind?" She knew it was a stupid question the moment it left her lips. The Joker chuckled darkly.

"Really want me to answer that, Doc?"

She stared at him, beginning to feel irritated. Was this even normal? Perhaps she needed to see a shrink herself.

"So what is it that your saying," she said, barely above a whisper. He grinned the aweful smile.

"Easy. You help me and I don't kill you," he grinned wider. "You said you didn't want my money. I can be good at negotiations. Progress already, I think," he added.

Doctor Swan really had no choice, but here was her opportunity, right in front of her, to diagnose and treat Gotham's most dangerous villain. She was so intrigued and disgusted by this individual, she needed to know how he worked. Perhaps she could successfully treat him, and write a medical journal on his progress.

This could be a breakthrough in psychiatric history. Either she didn't want to die very badly, or she needed to study the criminal.

From that day on, The Joker came, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to his initial counseling sessions. Dr. Swan was on the side of the criminal, and thought of all his derrangements he would unravel. He was dark and cruel, and every so often, he seemed as if he were about to teeter into a psychotic episode, and brutally murder her. But he held up to his promise that he wanted to be helped, for whatever disturbing reason, and she had her life in return.

It was on their third session, The Joker nonchalantly propped his feet up on the oak table opposite of Doctor Swan.

"Tell me about your voices," she said. He gave her a confused expression.

"You know about them?"

"Well, Arkham has you as a paranoid schizophrenic. It's the most dangerous form of schizophrenia, and is notable for it's tendancy to be coupled with dellusions and hallucinations."

He said nothing.

"What do they say?"

"It's…my father. I hear him tell me things."

"What kind of things?"

"Sometimes that," his voice became very low and sharp, "that I'm a no good lousy piece of shit that won't ever amount to anything."

"He says this while you're killing someone?"

"No, no, just when ever I'm to myself. He doesn't have anything to do with me and, ah, what I do. My occupation."

"You mean murdering," she replied flatly.

"Well…when you put it like that," he frowned.

Their conversation usually went something along those lines.

"Joker, when you have no remorse for what you do to your victims-"

"Dolls."

"…Victims-- it's called sociopathic behavior. Your mind is numb and your emotions are latent. There is no extracurricular electric activity that goes on in your brain that deciphers the words… 'a pleasant lunch in a café' , and…'bloody massacre.'"

The criminal frowned and tilted his head, looking disconcerted.

Dr. Swan often noticed his contradictory behavior. He appeared laggard and laid back, sprawling himself on the couch, his limbs hanging limply over the sides. Yet, he was never relaxed, to say the least. She could tell his mind was always moving a million miles an hour, the way he was always looking over her shoulder, around the room. Scanning scanning scanning. Always scanning.

"You lie, Joker," she concluded. "Because it's the truth in your mind. It all makes sense to you."

He grinned.

"Ya know, you're a pretty good doctor."

And then the window shattered, as a boulder of a creature burst into the room. He stood tall and ominous, draped in black.

The Batman immediately glided across the room, throwing The Joker onto the ground, and wrestled him to the floor. This was an easy task to perform, given the Joker's slim and meak physique. One that was infinitely tended to by The Joker's Anemia. A blood deficiency, which caught the eye of Doctor Swan when she noticed the flesh beneath his fingernails were a pale, pale white.

In shock, she had barely any time to react at all. But the searing hostility that The Joker shot at her with his eyes, the belief that the trust of a therapist was forged over to Gotham's Dark Knight, was more than she could fathom.


End file.
